


Luck of the Irish

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Humor, Series: Leprecaun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-16
Updated: 1999-04-16
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: You know, some people think St. Patrick's Day is all about wearing green (whether or not it looks good on you) and drinking Guinness and singing Irish songs and drinking some more Guinness. Well, there's more to it than that!





	Luck of the Irish

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Luck of the Irish

# LUCK OF THE IRISH

(Standard, all-purpose disclaimer) All pre-existing  
characters are the property of the creators and producers of "Due South."  
No copyright infringement is intended. All new characters and situations  
are the sole property and responsibility of the author.

**MEMO FROM BUFFY** 

Well, Katrina was thoroughly looped on cold medicine this weekend, so once again, I got control of the keyboard. You know, some people think St. Patrick's Day is all about wearing green (whether or not it looks good on you) and drinking Guinness and singing Irish songs and drinking some more Guinness. Well, there's more to it than that! 

WARNING: Well, nothing, really, somewhat to my surprise. Horace *does* use some Bad Words, but what else can you expect from a leprechaun? 

# LUCK OF THE IRISH

by Buffy 

"Oh, no, Ray, I wouldn't dream of it...." Ben cringed as Ray took a corner a little too sharply for his comfort. Diefenbaker whined softly from the Riv's back seat. Ray ignored them both. 

"Benny, will you just knock it off? Look, you have three possible courses of action. First option: you can stay here while your apartment's being fumigated." 

Ben shook his head. "Oh, no. The exterminators said it would really be best for everyone if the building were vacated." 

"Right. Second option: you either stay at the consulate or at some fleabag hotel. Now, *you* might not have a problem with that, but I'm the one who's gonna have to listen to Ma worry about you. Which brings us to option three: Just do what she tells you and sleep on the couch at my place for a few days." 

"Yes, Ray, I see your point, but, ahhh..." Ben scratched the tip of his nose as he searched for the right words. "What about, well, how shall I say this." 

Ray glanced over at him. "Frannie's gonna be out of town for a few days. She and a girlfriend are flying down to Miami for the weekend. Something about healing your self-actualized inner goddess or something along those lines." 

"Oh!" Ben brightened immediately. "That'll be fine, then." He looked up as Ray pulled the Riv into the curb. "Why don't you just wait here with Dief while I collect my things?" 

"Nah, that's okay. You know, this is what you get for living in such a crappy neighborhood. I've seen cases like this before -- the same thing happened down on Division last March." Ray slammed the car door and joined Ben on the sidewalk. "Took them forever to get rid of the little buggers." He looked back into the car; Diefenbaker was lying on the seat, head between his paws. "Poor guy's still pretty traumatized, huh?" 

As they walked into the almost deserted building and went upstairs, Ben said, "I'm afraid so. Of course, in his defense, he doesn't have any experience in dealing with leprechauns." 

Ray nodded philosophically. "Yeah, it's all part of life in Chicago. I should have warned you about them, but I guess you just get used to it. One year they even got into St. Michael's. Of course, Father Behan didn't mind that much -- sure, they smoked all his cigars, but he was trying to quit anyway." 

"Mmmmm." Ben opened the door of his apartment and looked inside carefully. "All right, Ray, I think it's clear... oh, dear." He sighed as the refrigerator door slammed. "Good afternoon, Horace." 

"And a good afternoon to ye, laddie." A short, squat figure clad entirely in green strolled over to the door and looked around Ben's knees. "Ah, I see the poor beastie didn't come up with you. Easily spooked, isn't he?" 

Ben edged away from the leprechaun. As he started throwing shirts and underwear into a duffle bag, he said over his shoulder, "Uh, no, Horace, Diefenbaker is waiting in Detective Vecchio's car. I'll just be a minute... then I'll be going and you can get back to doing, um, whatever it is you do." 

"Fine, fine." Horace hooked his fingers in his lapels and rocked back on his heels. He looked Ray up and down. "Top o' the morning to ye, laddie." 

"How's it going?" Ray asked. 

"Oh, can't complain." Lowering his voice, Horace glanced at Ben. "If ye don't mind me sayin', your friend is a mite nervous. Is he all right?" 

Ray shrugged. "Yeah, he's fine. He's just Canadian." 

Horace's face lit up. "Ahhhh, that explains the red suit. I thought it was an odd fashion choice, but, well, I didn't like to ask. I figured the lad just liked red. So." He examined Ray more closely. "You're not Irish." 

"Afraid not. I *am* Catholic, though." Ray pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. 

"Good, good." Horace patted Ray on the knee, then clambered onto a chair of his own. "It's not everything, but it's something." 

Ben called nervously, "Um, Ray, could you come over here for a moment? Please?" 

"Sure. Back in a second," Ray told Horace. 

Horace took out a long, thin pipe and started tapping it down as 

Ray walked away. "That's all right, laddie. Take your time." 

Ben grabbed Ray by the arm and dragged him over to the window. "Ray, what in god's name are you *doing*?" 

"Talking to the leprechaun. What's it look like?" Ray pried Ben's fingers away from his arm. "Geez, Fraser, you wrinkled the suit," he groaned, trying to brush out the creases. 

"Oh. I'm terribly -- don't change the subject! Aren't you the least bit, well, disconcerted?" He peered around Ray's shoulder to look into the kitchen. Horace gave him a friendly wave, rings of green smoke wreathing his head. "There's a mythological being smoking in my *kitchen*, Ray. Don't you find that the least bit odd?" 

Ray gave him an impatient look. "I've met leprechauns before, Benny, it's no big deal. Chicago is crawling with them every spring." 

Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I know, Mr. Mustafi explained all this to me. It's just...." He trailed off uncomfortably. 

"Besides," Ray went on, "I'm used to dealing with cultural stereotypes. I'm *your* friend, aren't I?" 

"Oh. Well, yes, I suppose if you wanted to look at it in that light, it does make a little more sense...." 

"Right." Ray slapped Ben lightly on his shoulder. "Finish packing, okay?" He walked back to the table. 

"All settled, laddie?" Horace puffed on his pipe. 

"Yep." Ray sat down again. "We'll be getting out of your hair in a few minutes, okay?" 

"Oh, no rush, no need to hurry at all on my account." The leprechaun nodded at the sparse furnishings. "If it's completely honest we're being, I can't say I'll be sorry to leave this place. The lad doesn't have a knack for decor, does he?" 

Ray grinned. "Nah, not really. Hey, you want to come over to my place for supper?" 

"Ray!" Ben dropped his duffle bag, aghast. 

"Oh, no, thank you very kindly indeed, laddie, but I have plans for the evening. There's a pub a few blocks from here -- I'll be meeting me fellow leprechauns to hoist a few pints. Good music. *Real* Irish music. None of this 'veils of misty memory rising from the peatbogs' tripe," Horace said scornfully. "None of this 'oh, aren't we *ethereal*' shit. No, real music about drinking and fighting and fucking, not necessarily in that order, ye understand." 

"Got it." Ray stood and walked over to Ben. Picking up the bag, he began gently steering the Mountie out the door. "Well, happy St. Patrick's, Horace. Nice to meet you." 

"Same to ye, laddie, same to ye. May the road rise up to meet you, may the sun... may the sun... ah, all the rest of it, ye know how it goes. Good day, Benton." Horace nodded politely at the Mountie. 

"Um, yes. Goodbye, Horace," Ben said weakly. 

"I'll see ye next year, laddie," the leprechaun called as the door closed behind the two humans. 

Ben turned to Ray, eyes wide with horror. "*Next* year?" 

"Don't worry, Benny, that's a good sign. It means he likes you." 

"Oh dear...." 


End file.
